Miss Charity's Case (10 page)

When his arm slipped around her waist, she knew she should push him away. But, even if she were strong enough to escape the prison of his powerful arms, did she have the will? The raw huskiness in his whisper held her captive as surely as the gentle warmth of his hand.

“Then, growing more bold, your admirer would dare to kiss you here, Charity.”

As his lips brushed her cheek, she closed her eyes. Delight surged through her. She tried to fight its beguiling tendrils that urged her to soften against him. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, “I would not allow him such liberties.”

“But if he would not be satisfied with such a chaste salute?”

“My lord, you must see—”

“No, Charity, I must show
you
what you chance with your thoughtless actions.” His broad fingers cupped her face. With ease, his mouth found hers.

She tensed, but his kiss was as gentle as a zephyr stroking a leaf. As his hands slid down to her shoulders, her arms rose to curve along his back. At her touch, his lips entreated hers to soften beneath them.

She was left gasping when he drew away. His palm grazed her cheek, and a shiver of unspeakable delight fled along her. His lips brushed her other cheek. She closed her eyes as he drew back the sash holding her bonnet in place and teased her neck with fiery kisses.

When the horses shifted, rocking the gig, he chuckled. “Mayhap I need not have worried. It seems your watchdog is a horse, Charity.”

“My lord—”

“I think we are good enough friends now that you might call me Oliver.” He sampled her lips once more.

Breathlessly, she whispered, “Oliver, I must return to Graystone Manor.”

His eyes crinkled in good humor. “I shall ride to Graystone Manor with you.”

“No!” His lowering brows hastened her to add, “That is not necessary. You have business of your own, and I have caused you to tarry too long.”

“Tarry?” Again he burned a swift kiss into her lips. “Is that what you call this?”

“Oliver, I must leave.”

“I would be rag-mannered to allow you to ride alone.”

“Accompanying me to Graystone Manor might be most unwise.”

He chuckled, and she knew he comprehended what she should not say. Because of his laugh, she was even more startled when his voice took on the chill of Lady Eloise's. “Wisdom does seem to be a course you disdain. There are brigands who would want to steal more than a few kisses.”

“I am capable of seeing to my own safety.” He must not guess she was seeking Joyce. Astonishment pulsed within her. She had forgotten all about her sister when Oliver had drawn her to him. What a cabbage-head she was! She would not let a man betwattle her with kisses … again.

Oliver gathered the reins and slapped them against the horse. “I shall see you safely back to the Manor, Charity.”

“I am no infant.”

“Then desist from mewling like one and allow me to do what you know is right.” he steered the carriage easily along the road. “You shall be returning to London soon?”

“Yes.”

He laughed at her taut tone. “Could it be that you don't anticipate the flurry with excitement?”

“My sister and I have lived a quiet life. Lady Eloise is determined to alter that, despite the fact we are in mourning.”

A flash of pain crossed his face. “Forgive me for forgetting that.”

When his hand cradled hers in sympathy, tears pricked at her eyes. She blinked them away. “Lady Eloise prefers not to be reminded of my papa.”

“She is determined to mold the world to her will.” His smile returned. “I mean your great-aunt no disrespect.”

“I am sure you did not.” Charity stiffened as he steered the carriage through the gate and along the road toward the Manor. If Lady Eloise or Leatrice noted her arrival with Oliver, the row would ring throughout the house. “It is not necessary to take me to the door.”

“It is my pleasure, Charity.”

She had no idea how to answer. Starting a brangle would be silly. She must bid him good day and continue her search for Joyce.

When Oliver stopped the carriage before the house, he dismounted and turned to assist her. She placed her hand on his rough palm. She wondered again what work he did aboard his ship, but the question faded from her mind as she was captured anew by the emotions in his enigmatic eyes. Her fingers rose, unbidden, to his face. His fascinating smile lured her closer. Knowing she was want-witted, but unwilling to lose even a moment of this delight, she closed her eyes as she guided his mouth toward hers.

“Charity? Thank goodness, you are here!”

Charity glanced over her shoulder. “Joyce!”

Her sister rushed out the door, a disapproving smile on her face. Oliver released Charity's fingers and turned to her sister.

“Good afternoon, Miss Joyce. It is a pleasure to delight in the beauty of both Stuart sisters again. I wish you good day.” His smile became warmer as he untied his horse from the carriage and mounted. “Good day to you also, Charity. I look forward to seeing you this evening at Belmore Park.”

He was gone, riding at a streak along the drive, before Charity could reply.

Taking a deep breath to clear the web spun by Oliver's charm from her head, she began, “Joyce, where have—?”

“Charity, were you all about in your head to take a ride alone?” Joyce interrupted. “And to come back in Lord Blackburn's company!” She rolled her eyes in dismay. “You know Lady Eloise wishes us to have as little to do with him as possible.”

Charity stepped aside as a stableboy came to collect the carriage. She smiled her thanks before adding, “Oliver shares our great-aunt's opinion of my driving about by myself. That is why he escorted me to the Manor.”

“
Oliver?
I hoped I was mistaken when I heard him speak your given name.” She wrung her hands. “Oh, Charity, have you taken a knock in the cradle?”

“Have you? I would not have been out alone if I had not been looking for you, Joyce.”

“Me? I was about the house all day.”

“Don't be false with me,” she begged.

“I shan't be false when I say Lord Blackburn will only cause you trouble, Charity. You heard what Leatrice said.”

“Yes, but he has been a gentleman of the first respectability with me.”

“You do not know him well enough to judge him. I have heard such horrible things.”

“Leatrice is a gossip, and you know how foolish it is to heed gossips.”

“It is more than what she has said.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she clasped Charity's hands in her own. “Don't let Lord Blackburn ruin you, too.”

Seven

Charity would have liked to demand an explanation from Joyce about where she had disappeared to, but Lady Eloise ordered Charity into her sitting room and proceeded to ring a regular peal for nearly an hour. How could Charity be so opaque? her aunt had demanded. She and her sister had no title and no money. Without a good reputation, they would never find excellent matches.

Charity's acceptance of the trimming without bursting into tears added to Lady Eloise's fury. Only the need to bathe and dress before the ball ended the reprimand.

Charity hurried through her ablutions. She let Hélène babble in half-French, half-English while the abigail twisted Charity's stubbornly straight hair into curls about her face. Mist was fogging the windows, so Charity feared all her ministrations would be for naught.

After dressing in the white satin gown she had chosen for the evening, Charity adjusted the ruffles at the cuffs of her sleeves. They were not as wide as the ones decorating the hem of the gown. Her slippers, which were tied around her ankles, were spotless black satin.

She opened her small satchel which held the precious fragments of her life before Papa's death. She ran her fingers over the packet of letters.

“Mama, I believe I am coming to understand why you did not regret your decision to turn your back on this life.” She smiled sadly. “Who would have guessed there would be more restrictions on me here than as a minister's daughter?”

She drew out her mother's wedding ring. She slipped it on the first finger of her right hand, for her fingers were more slender than her mother's. The gold's glitter should draw anyone's gaze from the tears that appeared too easily in her eyes as she thought of how important it was for Joyce to find the perfect husband. Then Charity would go with her sister to enjoy a quiet life once more.

How she wished Papa was here to advise her! Although his own life had not been without mistakes—which his untimely death had revealed—she needed his help to sort through her confusion. Oliver's kisses had been wondrously sweet, but other kisses had bamblusterated her. She must put her yearning for them aside before she made a mistake greater than any Papa had ever made. Only a fool let love betray her a second time.

She pasted a smile on her face as she left her chambers. No one could be allowed to guess the state of her thoughts.

Charity discovered her concern was for naught. Although she was quiet as she rode with Lady Eloise and Leatrice and Joyce toward Belmore Park, her sister was agog with excitement.

When Joyce spoke of the people she meant to speak with, Lady Eloise glanced at Charity. “And you, Charity, do you have a plan for this evening?”

“Yes, Lady Eloise.”

“What is it?”

“To avoid Oliver Blackburn.”

The old woman smiled. “You are finally showing good sense, child.”

“I hope so.” When Joyce squeezed her hand, Charity resisted voicing the truth. Her decision had nothing to do with any of the reasons rung through her head by their scolds. She was scared of risking her heart foolishly … again.

Charity scanned the gathering from where she sat between her great-aunt and Leatrice near the double doors. Oliver had been very definite about attending this party, but he was nowhere to be seen in the huge room that once had been the great hall of Belmore Park. Lamps on the walls and hanging from the rafters more than twenty feet above her head swept the shadows from all the corners. If he were here, she would have seen him.

Stop looking for him!
she told herself sternly.

Hearing a light laugh, she looked to her right. Joyce was deep in conversation with the viscount she had charmed at the
soirée
in Mayfair. She must ask Joyce his name.

“Mrs. J looks much the worse for the sweets her lover brings her,” mused Leatrice in a hoarse whisper just loud enough to catch a passer-by's attention. Leatrice considered the danger of eavesdroppers half the fun of gossiping. “And behold Lord M! I swear he is strutting about like a cock in a yard of hens since he convinced his new bride to make theirs more than a
mariage de convenance.”

Lady Eloise laughed. “Or so he says. It will be proved once she produces an heir for him.”

“Whether it be his or—”

“Hush!”

Charity, seeking an excuse to escape from the prattling, hurried to ask, “Lady Eloise, may I bring you something cool to drink?”

“Not right now, child.” The old woman bent toward Leatrice. “Did you see Georgette? I swear she is wearing last year's dress.”

Charity sighed. The Season was no game. A single
faux pas
could cost a woman her place among the Pink of the
ton
, although a man might find a way to rejoin it … as Oliver apparently had.

Blast! She did not want to think about him now. The memory of his gentle caresses and the magical power of his kisses continued to tantalize her.

“Now there is a handsome couple!” murmured Leatrice.

Charity sat straighter. What paragons deserved such grudging praise? She looked toward the doorway, and her breath caught beneath the seed pearls along her bodice. Her heart cramped, and she feared it had forgotten how to beat.

Framed by the wide doorway, Oliver Blackburn looked every inch the earl. His dark hair contrasted with his spotless waistcoat and breeches. Beside him, Thyra Estes wore her perfectly coiffed, golden hair nearly hidden by a turban decorated with feathers dyed the same lavender shade as the underdress of her thin, satin gown. Whispered admiration flashed around the room with the speed of a summer storm.

Charity's fingers clenched on her fan. Oliver had said nothing of Lady Thyra this afternoon. She looked down at her lap. She was a widgeon twice over.

When the new guests were announced, Lady Eloise sniffed in derision. “Lady Thyra Estes, indeed! I swear I shall talk to that boy tonight. He's been squiring Thyra about for almost a year, far longer than anyone expected for a
roué
with his reputation. 'Tis time he wed her and silenced tongues from flapping.”

“He clearly has no interest in leg-shackling himself to any woman,” Leatrice said.

“Or mayhap she prefers not to marry him,” Charity whispered. She found the words difficult. The too familiar despair twisted deep in her. How easily Oliver had steered their conversation toward his past, leaving his present
affaires
untouched. With skill, he had twisted the truth to charm her.

“What did you say, Charity?” asked her great-aunt.

“Nothing of import.”

Lady Eloise's smile returned. “Thyra Estes is a fool, I own, but even she knows she would be a nincompoop not to marry him. Oliver inherited his father's shipping business along with his title at the beginning of the year. Or was it the end of the old year? I daresay, Charity, the previous earl passed on at the perfect time for Oliver to gain control of the shipping line.”

“Lady Eloise!” she gasped.

“Tut-tut! Don't chide an old woman.” With a wave of her fingers that sparkled with rings, she ordered, “I think I
would
like something cool to drink. Do find me something, Charity.”

Rising, Charity looked about for champagne, which her great-aunt preferred. A servant in a pale blue coat carried a tray with glasses. She selected one for Lady Eloise, but hesitated as she was reaching for another. Nothing would dull the pain of Oliver's arrival with Lady Thyra.